when he was a little boy...

a bubbly lad of six

of no worries

of no burden

he likes to wander alone

anticipating trifles of nature

which evening will it rain?

when will the tree bear fruits?

and he'd bring with him a stack of papers

carefully wrapped in plastic

just in case

and he'd sit so high on the building

 where, it doesn't matter

when, he doesn't care

how, only he knew

and he's carefully write words

beautiful words he heard

from mother to father

from sister to brother

from natasha to him

onto the pieces of papers

with them, he crafted airplanes

though with no engines

they flew so high

though with no use

they made the day more beautiful to some